


Samsara

by piratecats



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratecats/pseuds/piratecats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saṃsāra, meaning "continuous flow", is the repeating cycle of birth, life and death (reincarnation) within Hinduism, Buddhism, Bön, Jainism, Taoism and Yârsân. In Sikhism this concept is slightly different and looks at one's actions in the present and consequences in the present.</p><p>In a repeated cycle of lifetimes, one must kill the other. Does this ever end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Samsara

**Author's Note:**

> \----- symbolises change in POV

People screaming. Bodies falling. Swords swinging. Jean was in a warzone.

After the death of Marco, Jean had become robotic. Endlessly attacking titan after titan, avenging Marco's death. He had never forgotten the scattering of freckles on Marco's back, his chocolate coloured sweet-as-honey eyes or his strong, athletic build that Jean used to caress. And it was all ripped from him in one moment, the moment he discovered his body, discarded in the streets as a mere toy. Every night he prayed for his angel, and wished to see him again soon.

From the distance, he heard Sasha screaming. Hurrying to the scene, a gruesome sight met his eyes. Bodies of his comrades, ripped apart like Marco at the feet of a 13 meter class titan. And yet this titan seemed smarter. Well built. Muscled. Jean took one last long breathe and leaped up into the air. Whistling through the air, Jean prepared his blades, but the titan turned at the last second. Almost immediately an ape-like hand reached up to protect the nape of his neck.

Jean felt his eyes wide with shock, blinking furiously. He hadn't been mistaken in what he had seen- this titan must either be a deviant or a titan shifter.  He saw small spots all over this titan's body, and flashes of Marco jumped in front of his eyes. Shaking his head, he tried to keep a clear mind- there was no way he could slay this titan if Marcos chiming laugh was echoing in his head.

And then it happened.

Zipping through the air, Jean didn't see the other hand before it was too late. He was snatched out of the air and pulled upwards until he was eye level. Glaring into the titan's eyes, Jean slowly noticed the track of spots, or freckles, trailing along this titans fingers, dancing along his skin where they met patches of freckles on his face. Shaking from the horror, with a fading voice, he gently muttered, "Marco?"

The gaping, bloodied hole that was Marco's mouth stretched into a wide grin. Jean, stunned into complete shock, froze completely. Tears he was unaware of streamed down his face. He gradually realised that Marco, the sweetest boy he had ever known, was the cause of his fallen comrades. As Jean prepared himself to slash his way out of Marco's hand, he was carefully released and placed just on the nape of his neck.

"Marco? What are you doing?" screamed Jean. Marco had bowed his head, as if to ask for death by Jean's hand. Suddenly a stranger zipped past and attempted to slice through Marco's neck, but a giant fist smashed him out of the sky. And Jean finally understood. He kissed his blades carefully and asking for forgiveness from Marco, slashed through his neck.

"I promise I'll find you again. No matter how long it takes." Jean whispered.

 

**1066, Hastings**

Marco was a trainee knight. He had practised over and over the basic movements leading up to the kill. Today was to be his first day in battle. Preparing himself, he refitted his chainmail on securely. He still remembered the day that he had signed up to William's army. Lining up in organised rows, the pride instilled within each soldier was clear. A firm salute to the Duke before setting off.

\-----

Jean was stumbling desperately on the battlefield. Men screaming. He had killed countless men, and all to find Marco. He remembered in crystal clear precision the promise that he had made before he took his life. Tripping over a fallen comrade, he knelt on his hands and knees, begging God for one sight of Marco. A looming shadow towered over him. He glanced up to see a familiar freckled face. The whisper of "Marco" left his lips before the sword connected with his neck.

\-----

Marco looked down at the man he had just killed, and sent a silent "Pardon, monsieur- je ne veux pas te tuer," to him in his head before battling onwards.

 

**1170, Canterbury Cathedral**

Marco gazed down at the Archbishop he had just killed. His blood, pooling on the floor, traced a river through the cracks of the church as if trying to flee this terrible scene. Glancing back at his other knights, he prepared to leave but not before a terrible scream could be heard, reverberating and echoing throughout the church.

"Who dared to murder the Archbishop? In his church, the most holy of places?"

A few days later, Marco was awaiting punishment for his 'crimes.' All he had known was that Henry II was in a quarrel with said bishop, before cursing and wishing for his death. He had taken it upon himself to fulfil this wish, and slaughtered the bishop casually, following 'orders' from his king. How ironic that he was now to be executed for his crimes. Looking up, a thin man in a black mask held an axe, awaiting further orders. Flashes of another life danced in front of his eyes before he shook them away. There was something familiar about those honey coloured eyes staring back at him. The memory of Jean stunned his and left his docile as the cleaver was swung.

\-----

Jean looked down at the knight he had just executed. He had done this plenty of times before, but there was something about this one that struck a chord in his mind. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the hazy images from his head.

 

**1348, Europe**

The stench of rotting bodies filled Marco's nose. He was a young doctor, barely 20 before the Black Death started. Overwhelmed by an innumerable wave of patients, Marco was barely managing to stay free of the disease. Each day hundreds of people would come knocking on his door, begging. He didn't have to heart to turn them away, so he treated as many people as he possibly could. He was renowned to be one of the best doctors- he had a sense of hygiene, and so many of the people he accepted into his threshold survived.

It was a particularly stifling day when Marco awoke. Already he could hear hordes of people gathering at his door, begging to be treated. He knew he had to continue on, but his supplies were running low. He barely even had bandages left. With a sinking heart, Marco knew that he would not be able to treat everybody today. He asked his assistant to go to the city to fetch more medical supplies, and had to hope that he would return soon. Opening the door to as many people as he could, he had to stop the flowing queue of people.

"I'm sorry young man, but I can't treat any more today. I'm so sorry- if you could maybe come back tomorrow?"

Golden eyes stared back at him as Jean dejectedly turned away. Calling after him with pity in his heart, Marco decided to let one more man in. He needed to work fast on his other patients though, and sat everyone down. Working his way as quickly and efficiently as possible, Marco was completely exhausted by the time it came to the man with two-tone hair. Sighing once more, Marco was about to treat him before he realised he had no more stock. He could not treat this man. He asked if he could wait maybe one or two hours, just until his assistant returned. Jean realised he would die soon and didn't want this doctor to waste any more supplies on  him. Shaking his head, with a small smile he bade him farewell, before stepping out. Marco never saw that man again.

 

**1666, London**

The blazing fire ripped through London. How it had started was unknown- the only thing that people did know was that they had to get out. It had started on Sunday, and was still burning strong on Monday. Jean, a young boy, had been given orders to stay and protect his sister while his parents quickly left to join the firefighters. At the time, Jean had tried to follow these instructions and yet when beams began to shudder and groan from the enveloping fire, he knew he had to leave. He grabbed his sisters hand and fled into the streets. Running to the next safe house was all that he could do. Soon, exhaustion claimed him as he collapsed in the church.

He awoke to the sounds of screams and people running. The fire, still blazing strong, was about to engulf this church. Pulling frantically on his sister's hand, he was about to leave until he heard a desperate shout from a young boy his age. Soft brown eyes, a face of freckles.

"Help me! Please! I'm trapped!"

Jean only had seconds to decided whether or not to help this mysterious boy. Planks from the ceiling began collapsing in on them, and he could only shake his head slowly before running out to join his sister. The strange boy's screams followed Jean as he tried to escape town.

**  
**

**1916, France**

Trench warfare. In the early stages of World War 1, many had believed that the war would be brief, and would be returning home before Christmas. And yet the war had already continued on for two years. Innumerable men had died for a few mere feet of land. Jean himself was one of the lucky few to have survived- in fact, he was the leader of one particular group. They had been ordered to go "over the top" in a week and he could not bear to tell his men. They were considered veterans by many as the majority had managed to survive a year. This was more to do with their fortune- they had not yet been ordered to trudge across the empty wastelands, becoming easy prey for the opposition. With a 'stiff upper lip,' he gathered his men.

\-----

Jean's entire squad had been wiped out in less than an hour. At first, the men had scrambled over, hoping to finally prove themselves. The foolish boys were shot first. After that, many were cautious and used the limp bodies of their comrades as shields. Jean had been a little smarter- crawling across the group, he himself had managed to pick off two snipers. He could see the barbed wire in sight, and was preparing to take out his wire cutters. Unfortunately, he was now in clear sight of Marco- a clear shot. Giving a depressed sigh, one quick blow to his head ended his life. That man had been roughly the same age as him- if they had not been on opposing sides, Marco thought they might have even been friends. Glancing upwards, he thought, "Vergib mir, Gott" before continuing to shoot.

 

**1945, Hiroshima**

Marco was strolling through Japan, specifically Hiroshima. He hadn't particularly wanted to go, but Jean had insisted. The man himself wasn't here, but he had promised to join on the next available flight; just as soon as he was done with work. Marco had considered confessing his undying crush on Jean- he had always loved Jean's snarky sense of humour, the mischievous glint in his eyes when pranking Eren Jaeger, but most importantly he loved the connection he felt to Jean. Before, Marco was known as 'the nice guy.' The sort of person everyone was friends with. And yet he never felt like he belonged until Jean arrived. Marco felt that Jean was the moon to his sun, the pencil to his paper and the peanut butter to his jelly.

And he wanted to tell Jean.

The two-tone haired man was carefully packing, emptying and re-packing his suitcase. Full of butterflies, he needed to look his best for Marco. Jean had to admit that he just-maybe-had-a-little-okay-a-large crush on Marco. Grinning like the Cheshire cat, he checked his watch then flopped down on the sofa. He still had six or seven hours before he left, so he snatched up the remote. Thinking to educate himself on current affairs to appear smart to Marco, he flipped onto the news. Jean's blood froze as he read the words, "Nagasaki bombed." All that he knew was Marco was there. Leaping forwards to clutch at the TV set, he watched with a desperate urgency as the reporter droned on. He was about to punch in Marco's number until the empty words of "there were no survivors" resounded in his head. Jean realised that it was he who had wanted to leave for Japan. He had killed his Marco.

 

**2013, America**

It was a casual day in America. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and Jean had Starbucks. All was right in the world. Digging in his bag for his hipster sunglasses, headphones pumping All Time Low in his ears, he didn't hear the car screeching towards him until the last possible second. He met eyes with the terrified driver and both stared at each other, feeling a sudden spark.

\-----

Marco was driving along. It was a gorgeous day, and he was driving along to go to the beach. He always loved seeing the ocean- the sound of crashing waves over and over helped to calm him down. He loved painting, especially the vast body of water as it always seemed to be different. A little unpredictable at times. Marco was so excited, he almost didn't notice the car switching between lanes with a police car trailing behind. It wasn't until sirens filled his ears that he finally noticed. He tried to pull over to prevent any involvement in this, but the driver wasn't so sure about that. Sneaking up behind him, the speeder slammed into the trunk of Marco's car. He was sent severely to the right and desperately tried to veer left, but the car wouldn't let him. Battling with the other car, he repeatedly threw his car to the left but it wouldn't work. And then Marco locked eyes with the pedestrian on the side. He really did not want to go to jail. Just before he slammed the stranger's body into the side, he begged the man to forgive him.

 

**2014, Paris**

Jean sat by the Seine. He watched couples wander along the bridge, 'lock up' their love and throw the keys into the river. As a young student, he barely had enough time for a partner, but he still envied them nonetheless. Standing up, he was about to leave but he crashed into another person.

Jean apologised profusely, and looked up to meet the man's eyes. Chocolate coloured eyes gazed back at him, and he was suddenly transported to a forest, lying on Marco and laughing intensely. Suddenly he was back in Paris, with his memories flashing before his eyes. With a trembling voice, he asked, "Marco?"

And with the widest grin, he replied "It only took you a few lifetimes, but you finally filled your promise."

 

**References:**

1066, Hastings (Battle of Hastings)

1170, Canterbury Cathedral (Henry II 'ordering' the death of Thomas Becket)

1348, Europe (Black Plague)

1666, London (Fire of London)

1916, France (World War I)

1945, Hiroshima (World War II, nuclear bombing of Japan)

2013, America (just a random date I chose)

2014, Paris (where couples lock padlocks with their names on it onto the fence of Pont des Arts, and throw the key into the river to show that their love will never end)

**Author's Note:**

> ok so I was tired and up at like 3 am finishing this so please don't blame me if it's bad :( 
> 
> "Pardon, monsieur- je ne veux pas te tuer" means "Sorry sir- I did not want to kill you"  
> "Vergib mir, Gott" should mean "Forgive me, God" thank you to the wonderful person in the comments who told me!! <33
> 
> Please comment and tell me how to improve!! <333333
> 
> also, my wonderful and generally amazing friend Amy did this drawing of the last scene:  
> http://live-less-dream-more.tumblr.com/post/76040298419/thank-you-to-my-wonderful-friend-amy-shao-for
> 
> she also writes, her name is SylphOfLight and you should all check her out because she's really good at writing :D


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